


A Study in Gold

by lizandletdie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Crossover, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandletdie/pseuds/lizandletdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle is spending her first holiday in the Dark Castle when Rumpelstiltskin surprises her with a trip to a far off land for business.  Things don’t go exactly as expected (do they ever?) but luckily holiday cheer ensues.  Based on the Rumbelle Secret Santa prompt by queenofairandsnarkness "Sherlock Holmes style shennigans ensue."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clutzycricket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/gifts).



The Midwinter Festival had fallen upon the Marchlands. With peace and safety purchased by the Lord's only daughter some three months previously, it promised to be a memorable event full of laughter and dancing and good food. Or at least Belle, the errant daughter, hoped so, forbidden as she was from leaving the Dark Castle and without news of her home she had to make do with hope and imagination. Not that her situation was so bad, really. After a rocky few days, she and the Dark One had reached some sort of understanding of each other and her days were generally peaceful if lonely. Early on in her captivity she had realized he didn't much care about most of the chores he had presented her with on her first day. She cleaned because it suited her to have an occupation, cooked the things she felt like cooking, kept him company during most meals (when he wasn't away on business), and spent most evenings curled up in a chair in front of the fire with her head in a book as he sat at his wheel spinning straw into gold. It was, by and large, a fairly pleasant life.

Still, though, as the nights grew longer and days shorter, Belle had turned her attention from her chores to preparing the castle for Midwinter anyway. Rumpelstiltskin had mostly left her to her own devices as she had set about collecting holly and evergreen branches from the garden and twisted them into wreaths and boughs that she twined around the great hall. He seemed more bemused than anything, even when she began stringing berries and seeds into traditional garlands and began scrubbing the doorways and doors so as not to prevent good luck from reaching them in the new year. He had, however, put his foot down when she began hanging mistletoe from the newly cleaned entries to the castle in order to prevent the passage of evil spirits.

“You'd have to try long and hard to find any spirits more malevolent than me, dearie, and I'll be damned if a little mistletoe could keep me out anyway.” he had reminded her, but she had persisted in hanging her little bouquets from the doors and in the end he had complained but done nothing to stop her (although she had noted that he glared at them in annoyance every time he passed one). There would be no presents, because presents hardly made sense when one party was an all-powerful sorcerer who could conjure anything he wanted and bargain for the rest, and the other was his maid who owned nothing he hadn't already given to her and drew no salary of her own. But presents aren't what makes a holiday and Belle was determined to make the best of everything else.

Still, though, as much as he persisted in not caring about her attempts to recreate a few of her favorite festivities at home, he still surprised her on the day of Midwinter with all the foods she'd missed from home, prepared and waiting for their dinner in the pantry. Well, he never said what they were for or that he did it, but really nobody else could have left it there and the selection was far too perfect to be coincidental.

And so, Belle had her feast – albeit on a slightly smaller scale than she was used to. She'd spent the better part of the day preparing cakes and roast meats for the two of them, and was just preparing to take the last things off the stove when he swept into the kitchen, carrying a hatbox and grinning strangely at her.

“Did you want something?” she glanced at him curiously, continuing to stir the spiced drink that was simmering on the fire.

“Do I have to want something every time I enter a room of my own castle?” he replied, gesturing theatrically as he was prone to do when scolded.

“No, but in my months here you've never set foot in the kitchen to my knowledge, so it seemed a fair guess.”

“As clever as you are lovely, dearie” he smiled, pinching her cheek teasingly, “just the attitude I was hoping for!”

“Oh?”

“Yes, unfortunately I'm afraid I have some business that must be attended to immediately.”

“Business? Tonight?” She looked around forlornly, all her work for herself, apparently, “but it's Midwinter.”

“Don't worry, dearie. We'll be back in time for dinner.” he said, placing the hat box down and popping open the lid, removing a strange black top hat from within it.

“We?”

“Yes, I'm afraid I can't handle this deal all alone.” He cleared his throat, “and, unfortunately, my usual assistant finds himself semi-retired these days.”

“Meaning...?” she asked suspiciously, she had never been invited on one of these little trips of his before and the phrase _semi-retired_ gave her pause.

In response, Rumpelstiltskin growled low in his throat and tossed the hat onto the ground, it began spinning faster and faster before a twisting purple and black portal opened up at their feet. He held his hand out to her.

“Do you want to see where it goes or don't you?” he trilled teasingly, but she could see the tell-tale stiffness in his posture. Whatever was going on was important – so important he was risking her escape to ensure it happened.

That made up her mind, if it was that important to him then she could be brave. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and grabbed his hand, nodding her assent.

“Excellent!” he giggled, leaping into the shimmering portal and taking her with him.

 

The hat spat them out in a gray street in a gray city. Rumpelstiltskin truly hated this colorless world. He'd been through this particular portal a handful of times before with Jefferson – every one of them in order to see the Dr. Frankenstein – but he'd never been to this particular part of it. But the potential client who had summoned him was just too valuable a lead to pass up. A man who had the potential to lead him to his son once the curse was finally enacted.

Belle pressed against his side anxiously, looking around at her strange surroundings. He pretended not to notice, but then how could he notice anything else if she was going to hold onto his arm like that?

“Rumple,” she said nervously, “where are we?”

“Somewhere called 'London' dearie. To visit a potential client.”

“But where is all the color?” she asked, blue eyes wide with shock even as people on the streets brushed past, some of them staring at the odd looking strangers but most too concerned with their own lives to bother.

“Ah yes, a strange quirk of this particular world. Nothing to worry yourself over, dear.”

She nodded and gulped, peeling herself off of him slowly, the warm spot she left in her absence disturbed him in ways he chose not to linger on.

“So,” she cleared her throat and straightened her skirts, her initial trepidation seemingly forgotten, “who are we meeting?”

“We're meeting a man who can help me find my so – something I've lost.”

“Oh.” She seemed to process this for a moment, “and why did you need me?”

“Well, this isn't my usual sort of client,” he began cautiously, directing her down the street towards their destination,

“Not used to your particular brand of charm, you mean?” she said with a smirk.

“Something like that,” he tittered, “I just thought it might be useful to have someone a bit more mundane to help break the ice.”

“Mundane?” she replied, a little sharper than before

“Don't take it as an insult, dearie,” he teased, “sometimes the simplest things are the most necessary.”

He was spared her reply by their arrival at their destination.

“221B...” she read the address on the door, “so I suppose this is it? This is the place?”

“Yes,” he winked at her as he raised his hand to the knocker, “mundane, isn't it?”

They only waited a few moments before the door swung open and a middle aged woman came into view.

“Hello, madam.” Rumpelstiltskin said in his most courteous voice, secretly relishing the shocked expression on her face, “I've come to see a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. We are expected.”

“Wait here,” she said, shutting the door a little too fast and he could hear the sounds of her scurrying about inside. A few moments later the door opened again and a well-dressed, handsome man with a mustache appeared. He smiled warmly at Belle, before his gaze drifted to Rumpelstiltskin at which point the door promptly slammed shut again. Rumpelstiltskin heard some vague yelling sounds from within and next to him he could see Belle attempting to suppress a smile.

“'Expected,' were we?”

Rather than answer her, he instead rapped on the door again. This time when it swung open, a thinner man answered it.

Wasting no time, Rumpelstiltskin swept down into a courtly bow. Belle took the hint and dropped into a curtsy herself.

“Mr. Rumple von Stiltskin,” Rumple said in his best sorcerer voice, “at your service” he added with a flourish of hands.

“Brilliant!” the thin man exclaimed, examining the both of them closely, “absolutely brilliant.” he reached out and put his hand on Belle's chin, turning her face this way and that. Rumpelstiltskin felt his annoyance with the stranger rising, his fingers twitched with the urge to slap the man's hand off of Belle's face but he was spared the effort by Belle taking a step back out of his reach.

“I'm his assistant, Miss Belle uh...von...Stiltskin?” she said in a strange questioning tone, as though asking his permission for her lie, “and who might you be?”

“Ah! Forgive me, Miss,” the stranger said, his tone implying he absolutely did not accept her story but was willing to allow it to continue for the moment, “I am Sherlock Holmes.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes,” Belle extended a hand from her position just out of arm's reach, but before Holmes could take it Rumpelstiltskin put his hand on hers and lowered it back down to her side.

“I didn't come here for you to paw over my assistant, Holmes,” he half-snarled, “or to discuss our business on the front steps.”

“Of course, of course,” Holmes stepped back, gesturing for them to enter the rowhouse, “you've met my associate, Dr. John Watson,” Holmes said as he led them into a chaotically disorganized sitting room. Rumpelstiltskin recognized the mustached man from earlier, alternately glaring at Holmes and gazing with wonder at the two visitors.

“We've become acquainted, yes.” Belle replied smoothly, her court manners on full display.

“And I was insufferably rude, madam, for which I must apologize.” Watson bowed towards Belle apologetically, “I was merely caught off guard as I had not known we were expecting...visitors.” he said the last with a quick glare at Holmes, who seemed entirely unaffected by the reaction. He was still staring awestruck at Belle and Rumpelstiltskin as though they were a puzzle he had yet to sort out. Rumpelstiltskin almost couldn't decide which man he appreciated less, but he had business to sort out, he reminded himself. And he had brought her here for precisely this reason – because she was beautiful and well-mannered and would be able to smooth over this introduction for him. He was meeting with people who weren't used to magic of any sort, not even the science-magic Frankenstein dabbled in. No, this deal would require charm of a different sort than he possessed. And so he had brought Belle along, and now he was becoming more and more irrational about the attention she was receiving. He hadn't anticipated this, but he was used to having her all to himself at the castle, used to her undivided attention. Suddenly being one of three men in her immediate vicinity – and, by far, the least attractive of the lot – had triggered some feelings he preferred not to dwell on.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes,” his words cut into the standing around and staring that seemed to have trapped the other three people in the room, “is there someplace we ah – might discuss our business _privately_?” he nodded towards Watson in particular, but he really had no desire for Belle to see what was about to happen either.

“Of course, sir,” Holmes turned to Watson, “Watson, perhaps Miss...von Stiltskin might appreciate a turn about the neighborhood?”

Watson didn't appear to relish the idea of leaving his companion alone with Rumpelstiltskin, and Rumpelstiltskin had to admit he didn't really care for the idea of sending Belle off with Watson, either. The man was entirely too _charming_ for his taste. He would have objected, had there been any other alternative. He needed Holmes, he reminded himself. This would be his best chance at locating his son once the curse was completed.

“Brilliant idea, Holmes!” Watson replied, hardly sounding forced at all. To his credit, he managed a disarming smile before offering his arm to Belle, who glanced at Rumpelstiltskin for permission before taking it and being led to the door.

Once they had vacated the building, Holmes slumped down into a chair near the fire, sprawled out and all elbows and knees. Rumpelstiltskin chose the chair opposite him, leaning back in a mirror posture. He would wait for Holmes to speak – he had, after all, been the one who requested this meeting (and through most unconventional means). He didn't have to wait long, Holmes apparently also being anxious to get through with this.

“So I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you...” he began,

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“You see,” Holmes continued, “I am in a most delicate position, and our mutual acquaintance has assured me that the help I need is the sort that you can provide.”

“Well,” Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward here, “that would depend on the exact nature of your problem. Y'see, Frankenstein doesn't usually get in contact with me, and if you require the sort of help he could provide you I'm afraid you may be wasting your time. No magic can resurrect the dead, dearie.”

“He assured me of the same thing, naturally.” Holmes voice was taking on a frenetic energy as he spoke, “Let us be frank, here, Mr. von Stiltskin, I know you are a great sorcerer, I know your 'assistant' is a high-born lady, although I don't know yet what force binds her to you I do know it's nothing like what you would like me to infer. I can assume, then, that you have some powers available to you here. I merely hope that you can spare some of them for my purposes.”

“A fancy trick, this deduction of yours – don't look so surprised, dearie, you're not the only one who likes to know about a man before he gets involved in business with him – but all of this will depend on the exact favor you need. So why don't we skip the pleasantries and you tell me what it is I can do for you?”

At this, some of Holmes' energy seemed to sap from him and he relaxed back into his chair, staring into the fire moodily.

“It is true, I did get into contact with the Doctor Frankenstein in hopes his... _process_ was further along than it is. I find myself, sir, in a most delicate position. I make enemies in my line of work, sir, and one in particular I find myself entangled with now. I fear the only way out of this is one or both of our deaths.”

“And you'd like me to resolve this matter for you?”

“No no, nothing so drastic as that, my God.” he paused again, “are you familiar with the Russian story of Koschei the Deathless?”

Rumpelstiltskin remembered, but it wasn't a story. Koschei, for whom he had crafted a magic needle containing his mortality in exchange for a particular horse which he later traded to Baba Yaga in exchange for the vial that could contain True Love Elixir. Koschei, who had been defeated by that upstart Ivan Tsarevitch after he was foolish enough to actually capture the young man's true love. And so, he began to understand what Holmes had called him for.

“I've heard the tale, yes.” Rumpelstiltskin said, studying the man across from him folded awkwardly into a chair, “and you wish a needle of your own?”

This won him a bitter smile from Holmes,

“Something to that effect, yes. I need to defeat this man, for the greater good. I cannot risk failure.”

“Well, that's a simple enough matter, dearie.” Rumpelstiltskin replied cheerfully, “but there is the little matter of my price.”

“Yes, Victor said as much when I contacted him.” Holmes rose from his chair and went to stand near the mantle, “Although what you could use from me, I admit I'm at a bit of a loss. I can assume it has something to do with my work, but I'm not sure what I have to offer that your magic can't achieve.”

“Ah, but there are other lands, y'see.” Rumpelstiltskin replied, “Lands where my particular powers would be useless, but yours...yours would be most helpful. All I ask from you is...a favor, should I ever find myself in such a place.”

He stood and walked over to Holmes, extending his hand to the other man. It was a sign of how desperate he must have been that he only thought for a moment before taking it and shaking it.

“Excellent!” Rumpelstiltskin trilled, “the deal has been struck!” he held the hand Holmes had shook out in front of his face and waved the other around it theatrically. These motions weren't strictly necessary, but he found they provided the right mood for these sorts of things. When the purple-black smoke cleared, a thin silver needle sat in his hand. He plucked it off of his palm and presented it to Holmes, who reached out cautiously and took it from him.

“Keep that in a safe place, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin warned, “for another one can never be made for you.” Holmes nodded, picking up a pipe case and tucking the needle into the satin lining before setting it on the mantle with shaking hands.

 

“I do hope you can forgive my abominably rude behavior,” Watson had said as they promenaded down Baker Street, “it's just that he hadn't warned me we were to be expecting such...unusual company.”

Belle couldn't help but smile at that. Rumpelstiltskin was a lot to take in even when he wasn't the only person in color in town. It didn't mean she couldn't tease him, though. It had been a very long time since she'd had the company of anyone else and she intended to make the most of it.

“Well, I suppose the kindhearted thing to do would be to forgive your lack of manners,” she looked at him sidelong before spotting a cart selling pastries behind him and remembering her own interrupted midwinter meal, “however I think it's traditional to offer a lady a gift in this sort of situation.”

He was clever enough to follow her line of sight to the man selling baked goods, and gave her a smile she was sure must have made him quite popular with the ladies.

“But of course, how crass of me,” he replied, doffing his hat and trotting off to acquire her some sort of baked good. She supposed she should feel some guilt for shamelessly flirting her way into food, but she had always wanted to travel and this could very well be her last chance to see anything worth seeing. While Watson was gone, she distracted herself by turning to examine a table of assorted sundries. It was primarily combs and mirrors, nothing particularly special, but she did rather like the idea of getting a souvenir of her first trip abroad.

The sound of footsteps jogging behind her brought her back to the moment. She turned, prepared to accept her apology cake and go back to 221B and her employer, but the man behind her was not John Watson. Instead, she saw a stranger in a fine coat – it was old, though, a bit threadbare. He immediately slipped his arm around her waist and before she could protest a short knife appeared in his other hand as he began to steer her towards an alley.

“Who are you?” Belle bit out carefully, trying not to enrage him. She was painfully aware that at the moment she was at a terrible disadvantage, but if she could stall, well, she hadn't come here alone after all. She could only hope that Watson hadn't been hurt because someone needed to fetch Rumpelstiltskin.

 

When Watson burst through the front door of 221B Baker Street, Rumpelstiltskin was only a little worried. After all, he scarcely knew the man and so far their interactions had largely consisted of door slamming and glaring. He might just be the sort who was prone to such displays of emotion. However, when he only heard the heavy pounding of Watson in a near jog and not the lighter tapping of Belle he knew something was wrong.

“Has she returned?” Watson demanded, “please tell me she's here.”

“Watson! My God, man, what happened?” Holmes was on his feet in an instant, staring at the disheveled doctor.

“We were walking through the market,” Watson panted, “someone grabbed me...from behind...everything went black...ether. When I woke up, she was gone.”

Rumpelstiltskin felt the sort of rage he hadn't felt in years, a black, yawning void opening up and threatening to consume those around him in a show of power and anger. Anything to cover up the fact that he had lost her, he had brought her here and he had trusted her to leave and now she was gone.

“Where is she?” he snapped, his voice eerily calm compared to the tempest bubbling just below the surface of his skin,

“I don't know.” To his credit, Watson didn't even scream when Rumpelstiltskin moved to catch him by the throat against a wall, “I swear it! She asked for something to eat and they grabbed me while my back was turned. It could have been anyone.”

“You left her alone on the street?” Rumpelstiltskin would have snapped his neck, if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of Holmes.

“Well, clearly she was taken by strangers, you haven't been here long enough for this to be an escape attempt.” Holmes was a changed man now that there was something to focus his energy on, where before he had fidgeted and flitted about from thought to thought he now looked like a man possessed with a single purpose. Rumpelstiltskin had to admit that this made sense, and the guilt that filled him when he realized he was relieved she hadn't left willingly was enough to spare Watson's life for the time being.

Once he was released, Watson quickly checked himself for damage as Holmes paced. Rumpelstiltskin felt strangely out of place watching the two of them but there was a reason he had needed this favor. Holmes was the greatest detective mind of his time, and he would do well to remember that. Still, though, even the patience of the Dark One had its limits.

“What are you doing?” Watson was the first to notice Rumpelstiltskin's movements, although Holmes wasn't far behind.

“A simple tracking spell, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, “nothing to become overly worried about just something to bring my wayward assistant back.”

He was spared further questions by a knock on the door. Standing in the hall was a little boy and the matronly woman from before. Rumpelstiltskin tried not to become distracted from his task by the quick exchange between Watson and the child. Finding Belle was far too important to lose focus. Watson, apparently, was unaware of the level of focus required for this particular spell, as he proceeded to come bounding back into the room crying “Holmes!”

He did, however, halt when Rumpelstiltskin made a motion in his general direction as though he had apparently forgotten the strange man in the room. He walked carefully over to Holmes, handing him a piece of paper. It was no use continuing the spell now, he really needed to research a more effective one later.

“You can save your magic,” Holmes said contemplatively, “they sent us the address she's at.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Watson replied, “why kidnap her in broad daylight and then demand nothing in exchange for her whereabouts? Not even a ransom?”

“None,” Holmes replied, “save that I go alone.”

“You?” Rumpelstiltskin sputtered, “alone? I think not. She's my assistant, I'm going to get her and that's final.”

He flipped his hand and the paper was in his palm with the address on it, he glanced at it quickly and then began to stalk to the door.

“You'll get her killed going in alone!” Watson shouted, chasing after him.

“I'm not worried about her,” Rumpelstiltskin replied calmly, not slowing his pace, “it's everyone else I'm going to kill.”

“I'm afraid he's right,” Holmes' had apparently decided to follow the two of them as they made their way out the door and into the street, “you have no idea who you're dealing with here or what exactly is going on.”

“And who, precisely am I dealing with?” Rumpelstiltskin turned angrily around to face Holmes, but the look on his face told him everything – this was the reason he'd been brought here to begin with, and he could oblige Holmes just this once, “alright,” he conceded finally, “we can try it your way first. But if one single thing goes wrong, I'm taking no prisoners.”

“Agreed.”

 

Belle was tied to a chair, but otherwise unharmed. From his vantage point in the rafters, Rumpelstiltskin had an absolutely perfect view of her (and, incidentally, an absolutely perfect view down her blouse which, was something he wished he hadn't noticed but couldn't stop noticing now that it had happened). They had decided Watson would remain outside keeping an eye on the door while Holmes went in, but that Rumpelstiltskin's talents were of more use inside and above. It went against every instinct he had to remain here, relatively obscured when it was entirely within his power to drop down to the ground, lay waste to those who had dared to lay a finger on his Belle, and carry her away to their home where she would be safe forever.

Holmes insisted, though, that all his plans would be for naught if Rumpelstiltskin didn't didn't allow him to see what he was up against, he needed to take in the full scope of this mystery nemesis' might and wanted to know why they had taken Belle. Rumpelstiltskin had reluctantly agreed, not wanting to risk such an overwhelming show of power in this land where magic was sometimes fuzzy and didn't always react the way he intended. And after creating Holmes' magic needle, he was feeling a little drained.

His attention was finally caught by the door opening and Holmes walking in. Belle was seemingly alone in the room and Holmes was unescorted, which was so far the most suspicious part of this rescue attempt for a kidnapping. Even Holmes seemed a bit confused by the arrangement, looking warily around until Rumpelstiltskin finally decided he'd had enough and dropped catlike to the ground between Holmes and Belle.

“Enough of your way, Holmes,” he said, turning and untying her restraints with a flick of his wrist, “I'm taking her home now.”

“Oh Rumple!” Belle exclaimed, surprising him by knocking into him at full speed in her excitement to see him, “I knew you'd come get me.”

“Now now, dear, you did promise me forever you know.” he said to her with a soft smile that even felt uncharacteristic to him, “You and your little nemesis can handle this on your own time.” he added to Holmes, walking Belle out towards the door. He heard Holmes gasp and turned to see the man staring at a single word scrawled in red above the door – _Reichenbach_. Rumpelstiltskin probably would have noticed it from his vantage point in the rafters, had he not been fixated on Belle the entire time. He chose to ignore that preoccupation for the moment and just focus on getting her back to the castle in one piece.

“Remember, Holmes,” he called out over his shoulder as they exited the building, for this was no longer his fight, “you still owe me a favor. And I do intend to collect someday.”

 

Belle would never admit how relieved she was when she stepped out of the strange portal and into the entrance hall of the Dark Castle. At some point, this place had begun to feel like home in a way she hadn't anticipated, and after her recent adventure she just wanted to finish cooking dinner and pretend she didn't just jump into another world where she was kidnapped by an incredibly dangerous criminal mastermind's henchmen. Yes, that was definitely something she would much prefer to contemplate over drinks later. Much later. But as she turned to make a beeline back to the kitchens, she was stopped by Rumpelstiltskin's voice.

“And just where do you think you're going, dearie?” he teased

“I thought I'd put dinner on the table.” she replied, turning back to face him, “unless there was something else you needed of me?”

“There's still the little matter of your present.” he said, with a sweeping bow and a grand gesture as a delicately wrapped package materialized in his outstretched hand in a poof of purple-black smoke.

“For me?” she smiled and picked it up, holding it tentatively, “but...I didn't get you anything.” she bit her lip apologetically looking up into his face.

“No matter,” he said softly, “you've done quite enough, I think.” There was an inexplicable note to his voice that told her intuitively there was a deeper meaning there just outside of her grasp, but instead of ruminating on it she instead untied the ribbon on the package before pulling off the brightly colored paper to reveal a leather bound book. She turned it over in her hands, fingers tracing the gold leaf embossed into the words _The Marchlands: An Illustrated Guide to the History, Geography, Political System, and Local Customs for Travelers._ She eagerly flipped it open to a random page, seeing her home lovingly recreated in inks and pastels on so many pages, the rest filled with things she already knew (and some she hadn't) but longed to hear again.

“Oh Rumple!” she gasped blinking back tears of joy, “it's lovely. Thank you!”

Without thinking, Belle threw one arm around him while the other cradled the precious book to her chest and pulled him into a happy embrace. He froze for a moment, before tentative arms found their way around her, his hands awkwardly patting her back but she didn't care. For a moment, she was home. Finally, she released him from her embrace, brushing a kiss against his cheek as she did. His eyes flew open and he stared at her for a long moment, his face openly surprised, before his eyes began flicking around as though searching for something – anything – to distract her before he could escape. Finally, his eyes caught something above her head long enough for her to glance up to see what could be so interesting.

They were standing under the mistletoe. Belle had been kissed before under the mistletoe. At home, it meant nothing. A quick peck on the lips or the cheek from a near-stranger whom she likely would merely exchange pleasantries with the next time she saw him. It was a silly tradition for a lighthearted celebration. But she knew, deep inside of her soul, this kiss in this place with this man wouldn't mean nothing. She gripped her present tight to her chest as Rumpelstiltskin's eyes met hers, and for an eternity they stood there, his hands playing frantically at his sides and her heart beating in her throat.

And then, finally, he looked away and the moment was broken. The tension dissipated like a fog clearing in the noonday sun.

“Well, thank you again, Rumpelstiltskin.” She smiled at him, suddenly nervous, “I should probably finish dinner though, if you'll excuse me.”

She walked past him and his hand snaked out, grabbing her by the wrist – a featherlight grasp that barely held her in place, but she stilled anyway. And just as quickly as he had held her, he let her go again.

She knew she should walk away this time, her book pressed tight to her chest as they both idled strangely under the doorway, neither one quite ready to admit what they were feeling, but both feeling it intensely. She felt him stir behind her, could picture him in her mind's eye – fingers twitching and hands refusing to lay still when he was nervous. She felt the air stir as he began to move away.

 _Do the brave thing..._ she reminded herself, taking a deep breath and steeling herself to turn around, the book falling away from its position guarding her chest,

“Rumpelstiltskin...” she whispered, he started at the sound of her voice, his hands smoothing down the front of his chest but still he did not turn. “Rumpelstiltskin, wait.”

He did turn, then, eyes meeting hers like a bolt of lightning threatening to burn her up in his wake.

“You forgot something,” she said, her voice sounding husky to her own ears, experience failing her here,

“Oh? And what would that be?” she took some comfort from the fact that his voice sounded as strained as hers, he was suffering, too.

“You forgot your present.” she replied, letting her precious book fall gently to the ground next to her and taking a single step deliberately towards him. Strangely, next two steps came easier until she was pressed against him, her arms once again wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed tight against his.

He made a muffled sound in the back of his throat, and for a moment Belle was afraid she'd miscalculated, but he finally gave a strangled cry and his arms were around her waist and he was hauling her tighter against him. His mouth slanted over hers and she wasn't the only one kissing anymore, his tongue pressed against the seam of her lips and she enthusiastically obliged him, parting her lips so his tongue danced against hers.

His hands were splayed against her back, covering her from her shoulders to the small of her back, as though he were afraid if he didn't anchor himself against her she would slip away. They could have been like that an hour or it could have been two seconds, Belle would never know, but eventually the moment passed and he pulled away from her incredulously. She felt a pink blush rise to her cheeks as he looked at her for a long moment, but she could not bring herself to regret what she did as she stepped away from him. He stooped to retrieve the book without taking his eyes off of her, offering it back to her as a though making peace offering which she accepted graciously.

“I'll um,” she began, “I'll just see to dinner.” she offered him a smile as she turned, not daring to miss a moment of the adorable confusion flitting across his face as she walked away, or the way his body couldn't quite figure out what to do with itself as he fidgeted. She cast a few more glances over her shoulder at him as she walked slowly away.

“Belle.” He called after her, just before she turned into the doorway to the kitchen, and she stopped at the doorway, watching to see what he would do, “Happy Midwinter.”

“Happy Midwinter, Rumpelstiltskin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Edited because I realized I somehow forgot to put in the passage that explains why Belle didn't get him a present! Oops.  
> This was a very hard prompt for me to get started on, as my experience with Sherlock Holmes is limited to reading A Study in Scarlet more than a decade ago (a lot more than a decade ago) and reading some of the short stories last summer on a car trip and watching all of the BBC Sherlock. I’ve never even seen the RDJ movies, so most of my information here came from a Wikipedia crawl which is why the characterization is a little fuzzy in places, luckily I have an English major friend who once seriously considered becoming a Victorianist who also enjoys answering questions because they make him feel important, so what milady wants is what she gets.  
> The inspiration for the plot comes from something I read once about how the Sheriff of Storybrooke was almost going to be Sherlock Holmes, but the idea was scrapped and he was replaced by the Huntsman. In my headcanon, Rumple was trying to recruit him, but after Belle left he never had the heart to ever go back and claim his favor because he couldn’t face the questions about where she’d gone and was too afraid of the man seeing through him so in the end, Emma did just as well at finding Bae as Holmes ever would have anyway. The story just sort of spun out of control from there.  
> Originally, the story was going to end with him letting go of her wrist and then an afterward explaining exactly what I just said but then the midseason finale happened and screw you guys we are having a happy ending if it kills us. So if you want a nice story that fits into canon perfectly, pretend it ends right there.
> 
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